


Quote the Raven

by zarahjoyce



Series: Deeply, Madly, Stupidly [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Series, What Ifs, confused!Sansa, overprotective!Jon, speculations, surprise character appearance!, this has no sense, worried!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: "I had not the time to think or investigate matters, Sansa! All I was thinking about was you hurt and I knew-- I knew I had to go to you and--""Oh, Jon," she says, placing her hand on his cheek. What a foolish man, she thinks, her heart light. "If I had known this would be enough to make you come home, I'd have sent the raven myself."aka two times Jon comes back to Winterfell (because of Sansa) and the one time he actually comeshome(also because of Sansa).





	Quote the Raven

She has been in the middle of writing a rather long letter to her brother King Bran when the door to her solar sways open without any warning, badly jolting her and making her spill her ink.  
  
"What--" she seethes, glancing at the door.  
  
And if she's been surprised moments before, it doesn't hold a candle to her feelings  _now_ as the cause of her distraction strides purposely towards her, looking worried and wild and windswept and--  
  
"Jon?" she whispers, feeling a bit faint.  
  
Indeed, her half-brother -  _cousin_ \- kneels in front of her, cups her face in his hands and says, softly: "I heard what happened. Are you all right?"   
  
She draws her brows together in confusion, both due to his sudden appearance in her room and the fact that he's asking-- "What?"  
  
Here he lets her go and moves to pace like an animal in a cage. "Why in  _seven hells_  were you riding out at dawn unprotected?" he asks loudly, glaring at her.  
  
Now she's moved on from confusion to utter bewilderment. "When did I--"  
  
"You are the  _Queen_! You should know better than that!" As it was apparently possible, Jon looks positively  _unhinged_ as he regards her. "What if you've  _died_ , Sansa? What of the North, then?"  
  
Annoyed with what nonsense she's hearing, she rises to her feet - making his jaw drop in response - and Sansa demands, " _What_ are you talking about?"  
  
He then rushes towards her and  _embraces_ her, his limbs almost shaking when he did. " _Gods_ , Sansa, you can stand! I thought--"  
  
But she has had  _enough_. Sansa pulls away from him to say, "Jon, you're not making any sense. Perhaps  _I_  should be asking if  _you're_ all right." She peers closer at him. "Are you well? How are they treating you beyond the Wall? Should I-- do you need me to call the Maester for you?"  
  
His eyes search hers; for one moment Jon looks  _lost_ , and it makes her chest ache in the worst of ways. "You--" he starts to say. "You're not hurt?"  
  
"No!" she exclaims, horrified that he would even ask that. "As you can see, I'm quite well, thank you!"  
  
"But-- I was informed that--"  
  
Jon rubs his beard while staring at her; she can almost see him trying to make peace with what he thinks he knows and what he's seeing as of this moment. Then he said, his voice quivering, "I was told that you-- rode at dawn, on your own, and that was when you were ambushed. By whom I do not know. You-- you fell off your horse and moments later it trampled on you, and--"  
  
He lets out a shaky breath and turns away from her. "I came as soon as I heard."  
  
That explains his disheveled appearance, then; and if her hunch is right, there may also a half-dead horse lurking about in Winterfell in need of great care and attention for bringing its rider back home.  
  
Sansa sighs. She grabs his arm, making him glance at her hand, then at  _her,_ and still the worry lurking in his eyes have not yet ebbed. "I'm  _fine_ , Jon," she stresses. "I have not come to any harm. Whoever told you I was hurt was badly misinformed."  
  
"The message came upon us via raven," he admits.  
  
Odd. "Who's it from?"  
  
He hesitates. "It-- it did not say."  
  
She raises her brow. "And you don't find it suspicious?"      
  
"I had not the time to think or investigate matters, Sansa! All I was thinking about was you hurt and I knew-- I knew I had to go to you and--"  
  
"Oh, Jon," she says, placing her hand on his cheek. What a foolish man, she thinks, her heart light. "If I had known this would be enough to make you come home, I'd have sent the raven myself."  
  
"Don't tease," he growls at her.   
  
"I wouldn't dream of it." Sansa takes his hand in hers and pulls him to the door. "Come; let me take care of you now. You must eat and rest, in that order.  _And then_  we'll talk about that raven of yours."

* * *

  
A fortnight after that incident finds Jon in her solar  _again_ , this time brandishing the raven's letter with him as though proof that his claims are not at all  _unfounded_.   
  
"The Dothraki and Unsullied are marching around your borders, Sansa," he says, his face tight. "I would have checked them myself but I need to see that you're informed first. That you're aware." Jon places a hand on her shoulder. "That you're  _prepared_."  
  
Sansa grimaces before plucking the letter from his hands. "And you think I'm not?" she asks after reading its contents.  
  
"That's--"  
  
"You think  _this_ is something I haven't thought of?" she asks, looking up at him through hooded eyes. "You think I don't anticipate them coming towards us for revenge, even after all these years?"  
  
"Sansa--"  
  
She rises from her seat. "I am aware of my responsibilities, Jon, not only to the people in the North but also to its borders.  _Of course_  I have them guarded well. And unlike you, the reports I receive are far more specific than these cryptic messages you've been getting lately!" Sansa pushes his letter towards him. "They tell me that the North is safe from the threats of both Dothraki and Unsullied - and I believe them."  
  
"For now," he says, looking at her.  
  
She bristles, interpreting his words as a challenge. "If there is a need to fight them, then we  _will_. If they engage us, then we will defend. But until then, let us not question what we have now." She pauses and steps closer to him. "The North is finally at peace, Jon. Let us enjoy it while it lasts."  
  
_Please_.  
  
Jon turns away from her. "I am not undermining you or your authority, Sansa," he says. "I only want to see you safe."   
  
Sansa takes his hand in hers. "And I am," she says, squeezing it. "You need not worry about me."  
  
Jon sighs and squeezes her hand in return. "Don't ask me to do something I cannot, Your Grace." He smiles sadly at her. "We'll both end up being sorely disappointed."   
  
And before she can ask about  _that_ , he departs.

* * *

  
The third time finds Sansa glaring at Jon, because what he's saying now is just utterly, awfully  _ridiculous_ and just--  
  
"You mean to tell me," she seethes, "that your precious raven has informed you that there is going to be an attempt on my life within Winterfell? The place where I am surrounded by people of the North? People who--"  
  
"--love you?" he cuts in, almost accusingly. "Especially that Cerwyn Lord who has  _obviously_ overstayed his welcome?"  
  
"You've been here a  _day_ , Jon!" Sansa snarls. "Less than a day, even. I hardly think  _you're_ in any position to speak about who has overstayed his welcome or not!"    
  
"Ah, so you're  _defending_ him now?" He laughs.  
  
"Because you're being absurd!" she cries, unable to help herself. "That raven of yours is wrong for the  _third_ time and  _still_ you come here--"  
  
"Because I was  _worried!_ " he replies, almost shouting now. "About you and the North, Sansa! Do you think I enjoy receiving these messages? Do you think not a day passes that I think how  _stupid_ I had been to come riding to you every time I get them? And yet I don't regret doing so, because only then can I see for myself that you're alive and  _magnificent_ and--"   
  
He pulls at his mouth, as though wanting to stop his words from coming out. Jon closes his eyes briefly. "Only  _after_ can I go back to the Wall in peace. I don't care if the raven is wrong, because it being right means  _you_ getting hurt or worse!"  
  
"You need not worry about me, Jon! How many times must I say--"  
  
"You cannot command me not to worry about you! I  _told_ you--"  
  
"Perhaps I should just make you my Queensguard, then!" Sansa scoffs, slamming her hands on her table and making her spill her inks  _again_. "Be my Queensguard so you don't get to question my methods or how I protect myself and the North and  _you don't have to leave!_ "  
  
Jon curls his lip. "Then perhaps I should just accept!" he says. "Because only  _then_  can I actually sleep well knowing that I will not be getting messages of any kind about what ill fate has befallen you and I can protect you however I see fit and I have a place  _here -_ with you!"  
  
_"Fine!"_  
  
_"Fine!"_  
  
She looks at him and he at her, and they both stay silent for a few seconds.  
  
Sansa is the first to clear her throat. "Then it's settled."  
  
He nods. "Yes, it is." He pauses. "Your Grace."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Good."  
  
And then finally, _finally_ , Sansa allows a smile to grace her face. "Welcome home, Jon," she says warmly, spreading her arms wide to accommodate him.  
  
Jon releases a breath, grins, and steps into her embrace. "Thank you," he says softly.

* * *

  
_So he's her Queensguard now? He's home again, in Winterfell?_  
  
_Aye. He's where he belongs at last. Third time's the fucking charm, seems like._  
  
"Good," Arya says to herself, soon as she's received Tormund's message from her raven.   
  
She sets the bird flying again, a grin on her face. "That's good."  
  
That raven really deserves to get all the treats in her ship - and then some.  


End file.
